Break the Storm
by Sacred Dust
Summary: To chase away her demons, Jane and the love of her life have come unhinged, leaving a trail of unspeakable crimes across the country. Where will it all end, and who will hold them accountable for their deeds? Four stories, inspired by LongSnakeMoan's 'All the People Who Won't Be Missed.'
1. I Can't Leave Yet

_A while ago, a great writer called LongSnakeMoan published an excellent crime story called 'All the People That Won't Be Missed,' which paired Jane and Todd Ianuzzi (from Beavis & Butt-head) in the style of Natural Born Killers. Three chapters of it have been published here, and it can be seen in its entirety on the PaperPusher's Message Board. You can find it in a search or PM me for the link. But the long and short of it is, Todd and Jane rampage across the country killing people at leisure, some canon characters and some not. _

_After the bloody and controversial ending, LSN set up a 'Todd & Jane Takedown' thread where readers unsatisfied with that finish could write their own stories as a form of revenge on the two killers, and she received many responses. I wrote four of the best stories I've ever penned for this thread, and obviously there are some spoilers for the original story. If you don't mind that and you just want to see me let loose...Todd and Jane killed a shitload of people-including my favorite character-and got away with it, and that pissed me off. These four stories are the result. ;)_

**I Can't Leave Yet**

Ω

Jane Ianuzzi sometimes wondered what went through their minds just before they died. She didn't care-she just wondered.

Like Tom, for instance. Had he thought of her? Of Daria? Of how the whole screwed-up triangle between them might have led to this? It hadn't-not that Jane could quite remember, her old life was rather dim by now. But if the patronizing son of a bitch had thought that, so much the better. Maybe it added to his suffering. And what about Daria? No, it happened too quick for her. She didn't have time to think. The bullets answered all her questions before her mind could ask them. Daria's little sister, though...she'd had time, right?

Jane clapped her hands over her mouth and shook with a fit of giggles, her feet twitching as she sat on the motel bed. What HAD gone through Quinn's mind in those last few moments? What kind of regrets did SHE have? All the sales she would never shop at? All the guys she would never prick-tease? Does blood red go with this top? Jane laughed harder. Her eyes rolled in her head. _Ohhhhh, don't mind me,_ she thought to no one, _I'm just a little, bit, messed, up. The itch is getting to me. Haven't killed someone in a while, need to do it, that's all it is so don't mind me. Unless I mind you._

She tried to distract herself with art. After all, she and Todd were taking it easy now with the baby coming...but the only color she wanted to paint was red; the only canvas, human flesh. That sounded kind of cool. Like something Daria might've written in one of her crappy spy stories. Painting and drawing failed to excite her these days, with so many interesting alternatives...

But the need to entertain herself remained, oh yes indeed. She carefully pushed herself up from the bed and rummaged through her and Todd's suitcases. It had to be here somewhere. She didn't have anything else like it...ahh, there!

Jane tenderly lifted out the long red wig, the white winter coat with the furry collar.

"Get 'em while they last, fresh from Quinn's closet to your room," she said in a tone very like the one she once used with Daria. "Warning, unauthorized use may cause brain damage and narcissism."

She slid the jacket on and wondered if she looked as good as Todd said. It wasn't hard; there were mirrors everywhere in this room. Mirror on the bathroom door, mirror on the wall, mirror on the dresser and of course a mirror on the ceiling. She and Todd had already tried that one out. It was a little dusty, but what it reflected had been very special indeed.

With the garish coat and the wig, she really did look like Quinn. _Sorry, kiddo. I know you were real attached to your clothes. Never mind, I'm not sorry. You showed some signs of intelligent life, but too little, too late. You wasted 16 years on this and left nothing behind._

Their lives no longer mattered-Jane understood that now. She could slash the throats of over a hundred people with pieces of her broken self and nobody could catch them, nobody could punish them, they were f*cking Todd and Jane Ianuzzi, and she couldn't wait for Todd to get home tonight. Damn, he'd said to her, even with Todd Junior you just can't get enough Ianuzzi in you. He was right. And the jacket did look good on her.

"Damn I look good," she said idly. "I look good. Good as I should. I look so good I'll give Todd wood."

She giggled and strolled over to the bed to check her cell phone. Wouldn't hurt to text him and see when he might be getting **_of course it looks good_** back.

Jane blinked. Her head felt funny for a second there. Nothing unusual about that, though. A shrink would have a field day with her head, if he heard the words that she just said...where did that thought come from? A shrink? She'd wouldn't let one of those pinheads live through the appointment.

She texted Todd and hovered over the phone waiting for his answer. Suddenly she needed him to hold her, kiss her, tell her she did the right thing and that when you killed people they were gone and you never had to worry about them again. She needed to _**put some new makeup on that SO doesn't wor**k_ breathe. That's what she needed to do. She shouldn't risk being seen outside though, even in the disguise, but she had to get out of **_not_** this room **_without the_** for a **_right_** minute **_jeans_**

"GET A GRIP!" Jane shouted at her reflection on the wall. She stared for a long time until her breathing slowed down.

The phone buzzed from the bed. She pounced on it. _Back soon Aphrodite, got something special for you**,**_ it said. Jane sighed in relief. She knew what he meant by _that_-the same thing he always did. But she wished it would be the Facebook founder's head on a platter. That online crap got so tiresome after a while. It was funny at first, but it only encouraged the outside world's obsession with them, and...

"Screw them. I don't want their attention now," she muttered to the mirror above the dresser.

"Really? I _always_ want attention," she watched herself say.

Jane let out a gasp of terror and fury. She darted over, grabbed the mirror and smashed it to bits on the side of the dresser. Okay, calm down. That was nothing. Just a weird phase. Maybe she wasn't getting enough sleep. Or maybe all the guilt you were supposed to feel but didn't, maybe it didn't leave you, it just changed into something she _could_ feel, like...hallucinations. These people were gone. Quinn was gone. She **_CAN'T LEAVE YET_**

Jane started to tremble slightly. She stared at the wall mirror, then the ceiling. Quinns everywhere. She had to get out. She had to get this revolting jacket and this goddamn wig off. She reached up to tear away the fake hair.

"Don't be scared, Jane. It's not so bad to be me."

_Oh God Jesus, I didn't even open my mouth that time..._

She couldn't look at the mirror. She had to look at the mirror.

"Let me show you..."

Ω

Ω

"Holy sh*t, the traffic," Todd muttered as he wrenched the door open. "We didn't kill enough people baby, let me tell you. I'm getting the itch pretty bad, what about-"

He was nearly knocked over as she ran to embrace him. "Oh, Todd," Jane gasped. "Oh God, I thought I was going crazy."

"Easy Jane, easy! What the hell's wrong with you?"

"First I had these really weird thoughts and then the mirror started talking to me, and...it was scary, all right? I think I need to switch medications."

"Jane, you're not one of those retards. You don't _take_ meds."

"Then maybe I need to start," Jane laughed breathlessly. "Sorry, I'm talking crazy. I just...missed you." Her fingers trailed up and down his back. "I mean, I _really_ missed you."

Todd grinned. "Now that I can fix."

They found the bed without looking. It was second nature to them now. So were other things. He didn't even blink when she brought out the ropes. Usually that was _his_ thing, but he didn't mind if she changed things up. He looked up at the mirror and watched her tie his wrists and ankles to the bedposts, wondering if she'd ever moved quite that gracefully before.

They kissed a final time, and she crouched over him. Something happened then. A strange, lost look passed over his wife's face, as though she were seeing a ghost. "No," she whimpered. "Oh, NO."

She reached into the coat with shaking hands and brought out a carving knife. Todd blinked. Okay, maybe that was a little too kinky. "Babe, what are you..."

"PLEASE, Quinn," Jane sobbed in a heart-wrenching voice. "Don't make me do it..." But her arms came down.

The knife barely made a sound, but Todd did. He roared in pain, instinctively twisting his body away from her and that only made it worse.

"That was one, Todd," said a light, ditzy voice from the ceiling. Nails on a chalkboard-the pink girl. He stared up. It was her, it was Jane, but it WASN'T. "Just a hundred and twenty-four left to go! Yeah, none of them were as cute as me. But...you know."

"NO!" Jane shrieked. The knife came down again. Then again.

"Two...three...four-ooo, that was juicy. Five..." The mirror sang playfully. Todd choked on red. His whole world was piercing agony, and the world was about to get larger. Funny, his uncle once told him it was a tiny speck of sh*t in a big old toilet bowl. And nobody cared what happened to sh*t.

The knife came again, and did not stop coming. It moved to his waist, then lower. He heard Jane say she loved him, before his senses no longer had room for hearing. Bitches. He always knew they'd be the death of him.

Eventually, Quinn finished counting. Jane's arms burned, the muscles torn, her hands stiff as stone around the blade. "Oh, Todd...I'm so, so sorry." she whispered to the mass of pink and red and dark fabric beneath her.

"That's really sweet, Jane," Quinn said from the wall. Jane watched, numb with fear as she stepped out onto the carpet. "I'm gonna let you have your body back for a sec, 'cause it's way more fun like that." Not that it mattered. Jane was so weak and sore from the forced murder that she could barely move. "Let's call it one last favor. You were right, you know. There are more sales. More boys. I can't leave yet."

She walked up and gently took hold of Jane's ankles.

"Mirrors are so great, aren't they? You can see everything. Everyone. But it gets annoying. All the people trying on terrible clothes right in front of you, putting on the wrong makeup for the wrong guys...and you can't stop them. So yeah, I think I'm coming back now. I won't use your life, of course. Cause you're like totally disgusting and you belong in hell. But I'll take your sweet little baby's. I'm sure she won't mind."

Jane lashed out in a frenzy of terror, pulling at the sheets and the covers as Quinn began to pull her off the bed. She even caught hold of one of Todd's dead feet, but the boot was so wet with blood that she lost her grip.

_"Why don't they know?"_ Quinn sang under her breath in a still, eerie voice. _"It's easy to see...that I can't leave 'till I'm dressed perfectly."_

The artist of murder cried and screamed. She fell from the bed and was dragged across the floor.

_"Coming in second wouldn't be the worst...as long as no one else was first."_

They were close to the wall now. Jane begged for her child. She received as much mercy as her victims.

_"Don't they know I can't leave yet?"_

Jane's final scream cut off as she was pulled straight into the mirror.

Long minutes later, Quinn stepped out alone, humming and fluffing her hair. It was done. She felt alive again.

In fact, she felt a whole lot younger.

**THE END**


	2. The Ring of Fire, part 1

To quote, that Johnny Cash song, LSM.

"You may run on for a long time, But sooner or later God gonna cut you down." _-DIsaac in the Todd & Jane Takedown thread_

**The Ring of Fire, part I of II**

Ω

It may seem strange, but I remember my best friend's 11th birthday party better than some of mine. Sometimes I look down at my right arm and I swear I can still see a turtle in green marker, just below the elbow. I liked turtles. I liked the older girl who drew one on me, too—or the girl I thought she was.

It's funny how things can change. Then again, sometimes it's not funny at all.

It's a mild winter night here in Tennessee, and I'm driving north on Highway 81 just east of the Cumberland Mountains. It's a hop, skip and a jump from here to Virginia-and just as well, since that's about all 'The Tank' can handle.

The van isn't mine. It belongs to a new friend, or an old one depending on how you look at it. I had to work on the damn thing for two hours just to get it running again, but it'll be worth it. At least he gave me some gas money for my trouble.

I just got my license and my probation period isn't up yet, but I don't care about that now. I guess if the police stopped me they would see a nice, innocent looking 16-year-old girl with short blonde hair and green eyes. Someone who could be their daughter or their niece, and a cop's kid to boot. They would let me slide.

What I'm coming out here to do, though, is anything but innocent.

Ω

Fremont, Tennessee is a small town. Less than a thousand people the last time I checked. We work hard, we drink hard; we love our country music and we protect our own.

It's pretty quiet there most of the time. We get a few tourists, I guess you could say—of the accidental sort. Refugees thrown from the end of the interstate, walking around town in a daze and wondering where they missed their turnoff to the Derby or even Virginia. You try to help these people if you can. If you leave 'em be, there's always a chance they'll still be stuck in Fremont the next day, the next week, and get so desperate to be home again that they just settle down right there. Nothing against the northern folks necessarily, but we prefer to keep things the way they are.

So much for that. Nothing was ever the same for me, after one of those people passed through and took my father's life with her. His name was Robert Crater, Deputy Sheriff of the Fremont Police. I can't say whether they recognized each other from five years ago, but I doubt it. I think Dad saw only a crazy girl in an ugly wig, and she saw just another victim.

I don't rightly know all the details of the murders she and her boyfriend committed after that. I guess I don't care. My father was enough. It nearly broke me—not just that a sweet and gentle man like him was gunned down in the line of duty, but that I recognized one of his killers in the paper.

"Hate the sin, Tina. Not the sinner," Father Valens told me after the funeral. "Trust in God."

And I try, I swear I do. But the plain and simple fact is that everyone has doubts, and if folks really trusted God and the devil to sort us out, they wouldn't bother judging each other this side of eternity. But they do, just to be on the safe side, and I'm no different.

I was hunting squirrels one day with my father's .22 when a stray dog bit me in the woods. I shot him dead right there, then limped back into town for a rabies shot. Maybe I never was good at turning the other cheek, or maybe some of the killing urge in him was passed on to me. But all along I reckoned that the kind of people who would shoot my dad in cold blood were no better than dogs themselves, and taking them out would be just as easy. First I had to do what the police couldn't do in the last four months: find them.

When that skinny dark-haired boy showed up at our door, with fumes from his broken-down van drifting in from the street, I knew the Lord was on my side after all.

Ω

I stop at a Chevron just across the Virginia state line. This van guzzles gas like my dad used to chug Budweiser, and I don't want to run out on the way back.

"How you doin', sweetie?" a dreamy-eyed older woman asks. She's behind me, waiting at the pump just like I am.

"All right, ma'am, and you?"

"Well, I'm still alive. But these gas prices may starve me yet."

We both laugh, but I'm faking it. I'm all alone, driving into the dead of night to find and kill two murderers. One I've never met, the other I may not recognize anymore. I'm already scared half to death.

I feel a little better once I'm back in the van. It rattles, lurches, and wheezes down the road, but at least it's big. It makes me feel safe, like I'm being carried by a giant. I crank up a Merle Haggard song on the radio and the miles fly by.

It's close to 1 AM when I arrive at the trailer they're renting. There's another van parked next to it, a little nicer than mine and probably much faster. I keep going and park a little ways down the road, headlights off. I have no idea if they're even inside, or what I'm going to do from here. I sit there, the trailer is silent, nothing happens and with a good 10 or 15 minutes I may just talk myself out of this whole thing.

Less than five minutes later, two people climb down out of the trailer.

I pick up my binoculars-a gift from Dad-and look to be sure, before they close the door and the light disappears. My heart starts to race. It's really them. Trent says they have kids with them now; I guess they're letting them sleep while they go run an errand of some kind.

Again, it's too perfect to be a coincidence. God has given them to me. Now I must give them to Him.

I turn off the radio and follow their taillights at a safe distance.

Ω

Mom was out of town for a few nights, visiting relatives in Knoxville. That was fine by me. Trent and I had things to discuss. He didn't recognize me—he was just knocking on someone's door for help. But I recognized him.

I brought out a six-pack to loosen his tongue. Then I told him who I was and what I knew. He cracked right away, confessed everything. Yes, Jane Lane was his sister...Jane Ianuzzi now. No, he didn't know my dad was one of the people she killed but he recognized his picture.

He told me she started with their family. Their parents, their siblings—everybody in the house, then she set it on fire. He didn't know why Jane spared him out of everyone else. But it was plain to see the guilt was tearing him apart. He told me she and Todd had escaped alive from a shootout in Texas and were heading back up to Maryland, probably to kill an old friend named "Daria." That was the last straw, Trent said. He couldn't let them do it.

"Where are they?" I said.

He knew why I was asking him that. He told me anyway.


	3. The Ring of Fire, part 2

**The Ring of Fire, Part II of II**

It's not long before their van turns onto a little dirt road and pulls over. I crawl to a stop about fifty feet behind them. It's dark out here. Pitch black. They can't see me, but I can see them; their headlights are still on.

This is it, I tell myself. No matter what they say, no matter what they do, by coming within sight of them I'm in the most danger of my whole life. I have to be ready to kill them now, because they'll kill me. And their hands won't be shaking like this when they aim.

Can't take any chances. If I walk up behind them they might see me in their mirrors. I turn off the engine and get out of the van through the back doors. Without a sound I slip into the trees at the side of the road, going in far enough to stay hidden but not enough to lose sight of them. My sneakers crunch lightly over a damp layer of dead leaves. Every step sounds deafening to my ears, but they've got the radio on so I think I'm safe. Maybe they're arguing, maybe they want to bury a body, maybe they're fooling around where their kids can't see them. Doesn't matter.

I'm about 30 feet away, behind and to the right of the car, when the radio quiets down and the driver's door opens. I freeze. The windows are open and I can hear their voices as he steps out.

"Just wait a second, dammit!" he laughs. "I can't hold it anymore."

"Oooooh," she cackles, leaning her head out the window as he walks around to the side. "Just do it where I can see you, sexy." She's wearing another bad wig-this one's red. But I know that voice, and tears spring to my eyes.

Ω

_"Okay," she says. "Hold still, Tina. If I mess this up it'll take a long time to wash off."_

_I don't move a muscle, even when her brother and his band start playing across the VFW hall. She's careful, almost desperately so, as she draws the turtle on my arm. One slanted square after another, the shell appears. Then the head. It tickles and I fight to keep still._

_"Wow, you're easier to work with than some of my canvasses," she jokes. "I should draw on you all the time."_

_"No!" I giggle. She's really nice. I wish she lived closer so she could babysit me, instead of Hattie's mean older sister._

_She looks up over my head. "Finally," she smiles. I look. Another girl is there, a quiet one with glasses. A friend of hers? She asks how Jane got out of jail._

_"It was a little dicey with that jerk deputy," she remarks, then remembers she's talking about my dad. "Um, sorry Tina."_

_"That's okay," I say. "When Daddy puts on the uniform…"_

Ω

"…He's a whole different person." I whisper. I feel tears on my cheeks. I thought I knew everything about him back then. Now that he's gone, there are a thousand questions I want to ask him. It's scary how little children know about their parents. How little families really talk, until it's too late. All I knew about my dad for dead certain was that he loved me, and he loved his country.

So many questions. And the bald, muscle-bound dirtbag pissing on the grass in front of me helped steal the answers forever.

I step forward. I want him to see me.

Todd Ianuzzi looks up and nearly jumps out of his shoes. "Who the F*CK are you?!" He doesn't really want to know. He fumbles a handgun out of his pocket.

I pull mine first. Dad's old police issue. I pull the trigger and my ears explode with the noise. The recoil seems to fuse every bone in my wrists. Ianuzzi screams and crumples to the ground, holding his stomach. The gun falls out of his hand and clatters into the brush.

"Todd? TODD?!" Jane screams, leaning her head out the window. I'm ducking behind the car, around to the opposite side.

"Go, Jane," he chokes out. "GO!"

She turns to the driver's seat and there I am. Neither of us says anything for a moment. I can tell she doesn't recognize me, and that makes me even angrier.

"H-he only got mad at you because you drew the flag wrong," I sob accusingly. "Why did you have to come back and kill him?"

Her crazy eyes shift, and she seems to remember something. But it's nothing she won't sacrifice. Even as she looks at me her hand is snaking under the seat, probably for her own gun.

I fire first but wouldn't you know, my hands are shaking so bad the shot goes out the window. She darts back up, screeching a frenzy of hate as she pulls the trigger. I fall to the floor and I swear I can hear the bullet whistle over my head. I twist onto my back and reach up and

BLAM. She's hit. I think it shattered her wrist, because she loses the gun and red is pouring down her right hand.  
It's a good thing I'm on my back because I see Todd climbing in just in time. No gun, pants down, bleeding from the stomach but he's reaching for me.

I fire one more time. I don't see where that one goes either but it's lower than his stomach. He collapses next to me screaming like a lunatic and blood is everywhere. I squirm away from him onto my knees. Jane is looking for her gun again and I smash the butt over her head. She goes limp and slumps onto the floor.

I stagger to my feet. Somehow, beneath the ringing in my ears, I recognize the opening strains of a familiar song. 'Ring of Fire.' Johnny Cash.

My dad loved it. I haven't been able to listen to it since he died. My eyes drift to the gas can behind Jane's seat, and in an instant I know how to finish this. It started with a fire; it will end with one, too.

I thrust the gun in the pocket of my sweatshirt and pick up the can, emptying it all over the floor of the van and the people inside it. They should be used to it—they're already demons. I take out some rope and tie Jane's arms to her sides. Todd can barely move already.

I make sure Jane can see my streaming eyes as I pull out a lighter. I've been sneaking my mom's cigarettes when she's not looking. I'm even thinking straight enough to take off my blood-soaked sweatshirt and throw that down, shoving the gun into the waist of my shorts.

"This is for my dad," I say. I turn the radio up all the way, step out of the car, and throw the lighter in.

The floor is instantly aflame. I jump backwards, slamming the driver door shut before I stumble back to the trees. They're trapped inside, screaming and screaming as the song continues to play.

_I fell for you like a child. Oh, but the fire went wild._ Is that how she fell for him?

I stand and watch, feeling sick to the depths of my soul. My heart is jackhammering, my hands are numb, my body's trembling so violently I don't think I'll ever be still again. But they will.

The song ends and cuts out as flames eat up the stereo. Minutes later the gas tank ignites, and the back of the van explodes. A surging wall of heat nearly knocks me over, and that snaps me out of it. I run back to The Tank crying and coughing from smoke.

I see it in the rearview mirror for one more second before I turn off the road. The screams have stopped, and it's all fire now. "The devil take it," Grandpa Crater used to say when he got really upset. Now I know what he meant.

Ω

It's well after 2 AM when I drag myself into the house. I feel like I'm eighty years old. Even my body is rejecting this as if to say, why? Why did you use me to do this? No muscle wants to move; I have to force them to keep me on my feet. It's just the cutoff jean shorts and the tank top now, not that there's much to hide. A kid at school named Bobby Ray used to call me Craters, "cause you don't have no tits." He stopped after I slugged him, though.

Trent is still wide awake, watching some music videos on the old living room TV. I don't want to look at him, don't want to deal with him but I have to.

"Um…did you…" he says awkwardly. He stops when he sees my eyes, my face, my sweatshirt missing.

That's all it takes. My stomach betrays me and I run to the bathroom. I haven't eaten a whole lot today so it's not much of a show.

Trent doesn't leave, doesn't call the cops on me, doesn't scream. He just helps me back to the living room when I'm done, and together we collapse on the couch, feeling the weariness of the whole world between us. I guess if he changes his mind and smothers me in my sleep, I'll deserve it.

"Forgive me God," I whisper before drifting off.

Ω

I hear on the news the next day that they found the van. Nobody saw what happened; someone driving by spotted the smoldering wreckage off the main road as it got light, and called the police. It's Jane and Todd Ianuzzi, according to their dental records, and the world caught fire—at least over the Internet.

I don't look at much of it; truth be told we don't have a computer in the house, as Mom thinks there's too much sinful stuff online. I have to use Hattie's when I come over to visit. But there are death threats, people in mourning, talk of hunting down whoever killed the two of them—as if them killing over a hundred people were nothing at all. _"Weeeeur r ther childen gonna go sum fosster fam?! GOD DAM THAT KILLER!"_ Hattie says she saved that one from Facebook.

It doesn't bother me. "Even a fool, when he holdeth his peace, is counted wise; and he that shutteth his lips is esteemed a man of understanding." Proverbs, 17:28.

I had to fight with Mom for a week, but I got the tattoo. A nice green turtle on my arm, just like the old one. And when Dad's song comes on now, I turn the volume all the way up.

**THE END**


	4. A Little Bathroom Reading

_Leave it to PPMB to take the high road 90% of the time, but then go SFMB better than SFMB does. I think I'll go on the lighter side this time._  
_I would calculate the events of 'All the People' to be at least a year and a half after the events of 'I Loathe a Parade,' probably more. Why is that important? Oh, no reason. _

**A Little Bathroom Reading**

Ω

The hallway was dark as Jane and Todd Ianuzzi crept into the Morgendorffer home to slaughter its inhabitants.  
It might've had something to do with all the lights being off.  
Todd was getting a weird vibe from this. Very weird. "Um, baby, are you SURE they didn't know we were coming?"  
"I don't know!" she snapped, also getting antsy from the eerie silence. "Maybe they're just not home."  
"But they have to be home! This is when we're supposed to murder them!" Todd sounded almost hurt.  
Jane sighed. "Just keep looking! If they're not here we'll just wait for them."  
"But...um, sweetie..." Todd glanced nervously back and forth, rubbing his knees together.  
"What?!"  
"I have to go!"  
Jane facepalmed. "Why didn't you think of it before we came over here?"  
"Well, I didn't have to go THEN!"  
"Fine, FINE. Then use their bathroom and make it quick. I'll keep a lookout."  
"Thanks sexy," Todd winked and ran for the door. But there he came up on another hurdle: the door wouldn't open. It wouldn't budge a centimeter, let alone an inch. He'd hadn't felt a bathroom locked up so tightly since that morning after the Zon served green hamburger.  
"Um, Jane..."  
"Now what?"  
"It's locked."  
She pulled her gun instinctively. "I thought nobody was in here!"  
"I don't know, I just know it's locked!"  
They put their ears up against the wood and listened. It was quiet. Almost too quiet.  
"No one's in there," Jane shook her head. "Let's just break the f*cker down, okay?"  
"Both of us?"  
"I have to go too now!" snapped the homicidal love of his love. "It's your fault, you keep talking about it."  
Todd held up his hands. "Okay okay, let's not argue. Save our energy for the victims. Ready? On three!"

As they assaulted the entrance, it became evident that this door had not been opened in months, let alone hours. It had swollen and stiffened in the frame. An aging paint job flaked off the corners and into their faces as they pushed and kicked. The knob was stiff as a drum, and the wood itself was hard and unyielding. Whoever had sealed this room up, they didn't want it opening again.  
"F*ck it, let's just use the downstairs," Jane groaned, wiping sweat from her forehead. "...Todd?"  
He had disappeared. She heard him coming back up the stairs, though. He appeared at the landing armed with a gleaming axe. "NO bathroom..." He started chopping at the wood. "Keeps out..." Finally he began to separate the deadbolt from the rest of it. "TODD IANUZZI"!  
"I guess you were potty-trained pretty well, huh?" his wife chuckled.  
Finally the door splintered open. The two killers leaned forward in anticipation...then reeled backward as if stricken, holding their noses and choking profusely. The smell was unspeakable-almost indescribable, like some profoundly incontinent wild animal had been chained up inside...and if it had been imprisoned with any soap or toilet paper or functional plumbing, those halcyon days were long gone.  
It was so bad they dropped their guns just to cover their noses.  
"Oh my God," Jane gasped.  
"JESUS!" Todd retched into his hands. "What kinda messed-up house does your friend live in anyway-"  
"HI, KIDS." a hoarse, traumatized, yet familiar voice whispered.

The man stepped slowly out into the hall. Above a pair of worn-out socks and dirty polka-dot boxer shorts, a tattered suit coat hung off his upper body. His brown hair was wild and shaggy, reaching the middle of his back, complimented by some truly atrocious mutton-chop sideburns. He clutched a wrinkled, fading Teenage Superstars magazine in one hand, a large toilet plunger in the other. There were bright red streaks all over his face and chest which brought to mind war paint or even blood, but upon closer inspection would have been identified as expired makeup.  
"FREE," the man rasped. "Finally I'm free..."  
"M-Mr. Morgendorffer?" a bug-eyed Jane stammered, still covering her nose.  
"The HELL?" Todd added, trying to be helpful.  
He seemed to look straight through them. "Something happens to a man when he's stuck in a bathroom without toilet paper. Something...terrible. I read this article about the Olsen Twins eighteen times. They had to lock me up. I was getting too dangerous. Too out of control. Didn't feel SAFE around me, they said! WHY was Daria stuck at that GODDAMN PARADE for so long?! GAAAAHHHHH!"  
Hie opened his eyes again and seemed to recognize Jane for the first time.  
"Wait. I know. I think it was...YOU."  
Jane and Todd prepared to kill-only to discover they'd dropped their guns out of reach. As the grim events inevitably proceeded from there, they realized they never knew you could be slowly beaten to death with a soiled toilet plunger.  
You learned something new every day.


	5. Break the Storm

"For me? Jane Ianuzzi's first victim was Jane Lane - someone I love..." -peetz5050 in the takedown thread  
_You can't kill your inner self, no matter how twisted the surface is. Jane Lane is still in there, somewhere. This is the final story, perhaps the one that is most honest to Jane's character. I was thrilled at the response it got and decided it had to be the finale, because there was no way to top it._

**Break the Storm**

Ω

Oh my goodness! That is so far out. Are you painting, Janie?  
A five-year-old girl with short, messy black hair and pale blue eyes nods. She's so happy that she is bouncing up and down on her tiptoes, in that unconscious way that many children move; in control, but not too in control. Her smile is as wide as the world.  
It is the first time her mother has really paid attention to her.  
Jane Lane won't remember it, but it is her at her very best. Everything she loves about being an artist will trace back to this day. It is a moment that never passes, a deathless echo that resonates in the back of her mind every time she picks up a pencil or brush. It is the joy of creating.  
As Jane grows up, she builds everything on this. First she learns her two greatest desires: to run away and to make something. In time she learns to simply run down the sidewalk and back, not away from home entirely; and to paint funny, twisted visages on canvas, not on drywall. When her Aunt Mildred sees the pictures she drew of her, Jane learns to hold the world at a wry, bemused distance before depicting it. She learns to shape and mold her life in other ways, like acquiring a best friend. And when she is 18, she learns how to love and how to kill-two things barely distinguishable, welded together by passion like the scrap metal in her sculptures.  
It is that last discovery that shakes her, though 18-year-old Jane does not yet feel the tremors.

Aw, baby. Aw, yeah.  
Mmmmm. Yeah, Todd.  
The rusty bedsprings creak ominously. The air grows dark with heat, another storm raging, rough breaths like the wind as they reach a crescendo.  
She feels his shoulder against her mouth and bites down hard. She seems to take but she is giving. Another tiny piece of herself that she will not get back because he does not recognize the gift, and she does not value it. He groans her name and it ends like thunder shaking the earth.  
The clouds do not clear away. There are no sunny days in their lives; there is only the next storm and how violent they can make it. A new one is brewing even as they close their eyes.

Wow, I didn't know you could make art just like your mommy, her mother says thoughtfully. That's really cool.  
It's you, Mommy! Jane cries excitedly. I made you in the picture!  
Amanda smiles at the crude watercolor. Even for a stick figure, it has a kind of grace and precision you don't see from most young children. And her color sense is nearly perfect. She even remembered to use peach for the body instead of black, a darker yellow for the hair, the palest blue for the large, spacey eyes. Amanda giggles at that part. Her daughter knows her, all right, even if she doesn't really know her daughter.  
This will trouble Amanda later on, and lead to more self-defeating distance. But now is not later.  
Is it? Little Jane looks up from the easel and frowns. Something is wrong. Golden light has been spilling through the room, but now it seems to be dying away. The colors she painted, the spark of awareness in her mother's eyes, are fading away. Jane walks over to the living room window and sticks her head out under the blinds. Dark clouds are approaching from the edge of the sky, blotting out the afternoon sun.  
They are coming for her.  
But she does not cry. She growls and stamps her hand-me-down sneakers in anger. This wasn't supposed to happen. She is showing Mommy her painting, and she will not let the moment end. Not ever.

It is late at night when Jane's eyes snap open.  
What have you made? she asks herself suddenly. There is no answer.  
Her eyes are clearer than they have been in 13 years as she scrambles out of bed in only a black t-shirt, kicking the covers away in panic.  
Todd is jolted awake, and sits up beside her as she cries out. Where are my paints?  
What? He stares at her blinking sleep from his eyes. Your pants?  
My paints! I have to find them!  
Hell, I don't know. They're in one of those bags. What do you need them for? Come back to bed.  
She shoves his hand away and runs to the duffel bags, dumping out food and clothes until she finds her travel kit. It has not been used in months. She is mounting the canvas and mixing the paints quicker than she ever has, and it is not fast enough. She whimpers impatiently under her breath like a child, frustrated with her own flesh and blood for slowing her down.  
Todd watches now from the bed in disbelief. He has not seen her do this before, not really, and it amazes and disturbs him. She births her creation as she will her child, with joy and pain and no real choice in the matter. The labor is difficult, but quick.  
To him the brush seems to strike as lightning. One strike and there are two eyes, another and there is a face, yet another and the subject's clothes appear, still another and a hand is raised next to her.  
Jane lets her own hands fall to her sides at last.  
The person on the canvas is herself. A little girl. Her skin is pale in the half-light and her conscience is clear. A brush hovers in her right hand, as if she is painting her artist and indeed she is.  
She is angry.

Jane backs away. Tears run over her hands as she presses them to her face. She sees in her own eyes all that she has lost, and it destroys her.  
What's wrong? Todd asks uselessly as she cries. What's WRONG?  
He holds her, asking again and again until she answers.  
I am, his wife sobs.  
Jane understands everything now. He sees her reaching under the mattress but is too surprised to stop her.  
She aims the gun at him without hesitation. He is blameless, twisted enough for the both of them, but she doesn't care. Since meeting him she has run and run and created nothing. The imbalance has blackened her sky.  
I'm sorry, Todd, she says.  
The bullet strikes with the suddenness of inspiration. It is the last storm, one final act of destruction before this child inside of her-both of them-might be free.

Outside the window there is a flash, a single clap of thunder in the heavens.  
Little Jane steps back from the easel and looks outside. She sees the darkness lifting little by little, until the sun returns, and she smiles again.  
Beyond her eternal horizon, a large van departs with a single traveler. There are the first drops of rain.


End file.
